


Blue Flashing Lights

by justbygrace



Series: Inspired by Songs [6]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-13 07:38:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7968142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justbygrace/pseuds/justbygrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by the entirety of Keith Urban's 'Cop Car'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue Flashing Lights

It was just another boring Friday night in the backwater town in which John Noble had the great misfortune to have spent the first seventeen miserable years of his life. Okay, every second hadn't been miserable, but sitting on the edge of the dock and skipping rocks across the placid waters of the slowest moving river south of the Mississippi, John was willing to bet money that no one on earth would want to switch lives with him right at that moment. Not when every other high school senior (and wasn't the American school system weird even after all these years) was probably getting lucky and he was stuck here rotting away because he was a geeky nerd who wouldn't know how to woo a girl if he was given an instruction manual. At least, that's what his cousin Jack always told him. And Jack would know since he had wooed every girl in this sleepy town and scored with nearly all of them.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps, but he didn't bother to glance up. The only other people who came down here were Jack, come to gloat about his latest conquest, or his sister Donna, here to offer him advice. He was so not in the mood to deal with either. The footsteps stopped next to him and he glanced over out of habit, wondering which form of forced joviality he was going to have to employ, and then froze because those legs did not belong to Jack or Donna. In fact, he was quite sure he had never seen that particular pair of legs before and he would know, though up until that point he never would have thought of himself as a leg man. He forced his gaze up, past the shapely calves, the beautiful expanse of thigh, the delicious curves of, ahem, he jerked his gaze the rest of the way up to see the face of whatever specter of beauty had seen fit to bless his dreams.

It was her. Rose Tyler. The new girl in town. Just transplanted from England — his and Donna's land of birth — and the talk of every adolescent boy over the age of puberty. Of course he had seen her, never up this close and personal, never with her skin mere centimeters from his lips, but oh yes, he had seen her. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, but no words came out. She didn't seem to notice, however, and he thanked several deities for that. She sat down next to him, trailing her toe in the tepid water and offering him a smile. He hoped he smiled back, but he couldn't be sure; all of the blood in his body had flown south and it was taking all of his energies to keep his, er, predicament from her. 

She spoke and he swore the heavens had opened up and the glory of the angels was shining around them. Or he would have sworn that, if he had extra brain cells that weren't used up on making sure he committed every beautiful, London-bred, pure English-accented word to memory. No one was ever going to believe him. No one. Somewhere along the line he realized he should probably be listening to her actual words and not just reveling in the sound of her voice and he tuned in just in time to hear her saying something about his truck and did he want to go for a drive.

Yeah, yeah he wanted to go on a drive. He wanted to drive to California. Hell, he wanted to drive to Alaska that very night if that's what she was in the mood for. Apparently she wasn't quite in the mood for something quite so far-fetched as all that, more's the pity. What she wanted was open road, the wind blowing through her hair, the radio cranked full volume, and the speedometer approaching its limit through the muddy back roads.

There was a "no trespassing" sign out near the airport, but he paid it no mind, more intent on the sound of her laughter, her voice singing along to every pop song on the radio, every whiff of strawberry shampoo wafting his direction. When she caught sight of the planes taking off she begged him to stop, and he did with a tiny voice in the back of his mind saying that if she asked him to steal one for her he'd probably do it, which he silenced by flipping down the tailgate and pulling out a few beers, offering her one shyly. 

They sat side-by-side, shoulder-to-shoulder, and if it wasn't for the warm beer filling his belly, he would have been sure he had died and gone to heaven. Especially when she rested her head on his shoulder, her breasts pleasantly pressing into his chest, her hair tickling his nose, her voice drowning out the sound of approaching sirens. Hold on, what? His abrupt movement dislodged her head and he immediately regretted that decision, encouraging her to return to her original position. If this was his last night on earth, he was quite happy to spend it right here.

She grabbed his hand as the heavy-footed cops waved flashlights in their direction, and he thought she was scared until he heard her start to chuckle. When he turned to her in disbelief at her disregard for their dire situation, he was surprised to see her laughing, pure joy radiating out of every pore. He was so intent on the beauty that was before him, he hardly noticed when he was hauled off the truck. Or he wouldn't have noticed if it hadn't also forced him to let go of her hand. That he minded very much indeed.

The voices of the cops reverberated in the air around them, something about big trouble and fines and stupid teenagers and her daddy and wait, what? He tuned in to that, trying to remember if he knew who her daddy was. Which is when it clicked that Rose Tyler was Pete Tyler's daughter. Pete Tyler, as in head of Vitex Oil Company, as in billionaire extraordinaire, come to settle into this sleepy town in exchange for a quieter climate. And he, John Noble, was about to get Pete Tyler’s daughter thrown into jail. 

That realization brought reality crashing down hard, but if Rose cared she certainly wasn't showing it. Instead she was still bursting out with short bouts of laughter, a smile looking ready to split her face in half. When they were both handcuffed and tossed into the back of the closest cop car, John chanced a glance at her, afraid and nervous and apprehensive and every other synonym that he had ever learned running through his veins. There was a glow in her eyes, probably the flashing blue lights reflected in the irises, but to John it looked like freedom and other worldliness and the only thing he would ever believe in for the rest of his life.

She twisted her arm around so she could grab his hand, lacing their fingers together in that awkward way that had always seemed corny and cheesy in movies, but was suddenly the most romantic thing that John had ever been a part of (admittedly, his romantic experience wasn't vast, but it was still incredibly brilliant). And then she was whispering, “Want to run for it?” And he stared at her, wondering if and when the power of speech would be returned to him because it was totally gone right then. She grinned, winking at him, and then hollering up front for a light. He was confused, he would know if she smoked, but she winked at him again and John couldn't help it, he truly couldn't, he burst out laughing, ignoring the angry curses from the cops in the front seat. 

Rose laughed too, their laughter intertwining together and echoing through the bars to the front seat and out into the dark, muggy summer night. When she tugged on his hand, tipping them both sideways and into each other, he didn't protest, couldn't, the ability to make noise was once again robbed from him, what with her soft skin pressed into him the only thing running through his head was...well, nothing intelligent or repeatable in polite conversation. 

It didn't take them long to reach the station, it was a tiny town after all, and they were hauled in and landed on a bench, and all the officers looked beyond pissed, and John was a little apprehensive because this is where phone calls to parents generally happened (at least, they did in the movies, he didn't have much experience in real life, but Jack did and his stories were always gory), but Rose looked like the world had handed her everything she ever wanted and she curled up with her feet tucked under her and her head on John's chest and he forgot he was supposed to be nervous about anything at all.

By the time the cops came to talk to them, all of his fears (or all the ones involving jail time anyway, he had some others that he didn't see fit to share with anyone) were completely out the small, barred window and he was actually stringing together words into halfway intelligent sentences, at least, he hoped he was. Honestly, he was hardly paying attention to his own voice, too intent was he on hearing Rose's replies. Whatever Rose's dad had said had apparently softened the officer's hearts and they released them with a warning about private property and underage drinking and dire prophecies about what would happen in the future if this ever occurred again which John forgot to pay attention to.

When they were free and clear and standing on the sidewalk, John was awkward and unsure because that was his usual modus operandi and also because he was sure the headlights sweeping towards them belonged to Pete Tyler's BMW. Rose was apparently not at all concerned about the potential appearance of her father because she was suddenly in his personal space, up on her tiptoes, hands around his neck, and oh, those were her lips pressed to his, and oh dear god Rose Tyler's tongue was in his mouth and the whole damn porn industry might as well go out of business because it had never prepared him for the absolute perfection of this moment.

He didn't even mind her father pulling up, okay, that was a lie, yes he did, but it could also be construed as a good thing because there is nothing like one's kissing partner's father showing up to help certain parts of one's anatomy to be a good boy. Rose stepped back, out of his arms, and was she doing it reluctantly? He rather thought she was, would have bet money on it, in fact, if he was that sort of a man. And after tonight he was no longer entirely sure what sort of man he was or wasn't, and frankly he didn't care because Rose had just whispered, "Same time tomorrow?" in his ear and he not only forgot words, he forgot movement, and nothing her irritated father was saying could restrain his joy. 

And then she was gone, swept away in that expensive BMW, and he was left standing on the sidewalk outside the police station with no idea where his truck was, and he couldn't be bothered to care right then. Instead he set off down the street towards his home, whistling the sappiest song he could think of because this had been the most glorious Friday night of his seventeen years and he was going to do it again tomorrow night — though hopefully not with the visit with the cops, and with more talking on his part — and he was at peace with the world.


End file.
